newspapers, Mrs. Trollope furnishes an example. Two young people,
scarcely out of their childhood, went into a restaurant and ordered a
dinner of extraordinary delicacy and not less extraordinary cost,
returning at the appointed time to partake of it. They finished it with
a good appetite, and with the enjoyment natural to their age. They
called for champagne, and emptied the bottle, holding each other's hand.
Not the slightest shadow of sadness obscured their gaiety, which was
prolonged, almost noisy, and apparently genuine. After dinner came
coffee, a mouthful of brandy, and the bill. One of them with his finger
pointed out the total to the other, and both at the same time broke out
into a fit of laughter. After they had drank the coffee they told the
waiter that they wished to speak to the proprietor, who came
immediately, supposing that they wished to complain of some article as
overcharged.
But instead, the elder of the two began by declaring that the dinner was
excellent, and went on to say that this was the more fortunate because
it would assuredly be the last they should eat in this world; that as
for the bill, he must be good enough to excuse payment, inasmuch as
neither of them possessed a farthing. He explained that they would never
have played him so sorry a joke had it not been that, finding themselves
overwhelmed by the troubles and anxieties of the world, they had
resolved to enjoy a good meal once more, and then to take leave of
existence. The first portion of their project they had satisfactorily
carried out, thanks to the excellence of Monsieur's _cuisine_ and
cellar, and the second would not be long delayed, since the coffee and
the brandy had been mixed with a drug which would help them to pay all
their debts.
The landlord was furious. He did not believe a word of the young man's
oration, and declared he would hand them over to the commissary of
police. Eventually he allowed them to leave on their furnishing him with
their address.
The following day, impelled half by a wish to get his money, and half by
a fear that they might have spoken in earnest, he repaired to the
address they had given him, and learned that the two unfortunate young
men had been found that morning lying on a bed which one of them had
hired some weeks before. They were dead, and their bodies already cold.
On a small table in the room lay several papers covered with writing;
all of them breathed the desire to attain renown without difficulty and
without work, and expressed the utmost contempt for those who consented
to gain their livelihood by the sweat of their brow. There were several
quotations from Victor Hugo, and a request that their names and the
manner of their death might be published in the newspapers.
It is a pity that their yearning for posthumous notoriety was gratified,
inasmuch as the sentimental articles written to order by dexterous pens,
and the verses composed in honour of the two lunatics by Beranger, in
which a romantic halo is thrown over their audacious crime,
"Et vers le ciel se frayant un chemin,
Ils sont partis en se donnant la main"...
encouraged, it is to be feared, a suicidal mania.
We have hinted that Mrs. Trollope's strength lay in her faculty of
observation, and her strong, pungent humour. Occasionally, however, she
ventures on a vein of reflection, and not without success. For instance,
her observations upon the elevation of Louis Philippe to the French
throne are marked by a clear, cool judgment.
When she diverts her thoughts, she says, from the dethroned and banished
king to him whom she saw before her, walking without guards and with an
assured step, she could not but recall the vicissitudes he had
experienced, and the conclusion forced itself upon her that this earth
and all its inhabitants were but the toys of children, which change
their name and destination according to the moment's whim. It seemed to
her that all men must be classed in the order which it was good for them
to hold; and that everything would be thrown into the greatest confusion
if they were cast down in order to be raised up again, and thus they
were perpetually hurled from side to side; with all this, so powerless
in themselves, and so completely governed by chance! She felt humbled by
the sight of human weakness, and turned her eyes from the monarch to
meditate on the insignificance of men.
How vain are all the efforts which man is able to make to direct the
course of his own existence! There is nothing, in truth, but confidence
in an exalted Wisdom and an immovable Power which can enable us, from
the greatest to the smallest, to traverse with courage and tranquillity
a world subject to such terrible convulsions.
In the opinion of one French critic, the book upon "Paris and the
Parisians" is one of the most interesting works which has dealt with the
subject of French society. It reflects with wonderful accuracy the
physiognomy of the reign of Louis Philippe; those outbreaks which so
frequently troubled the city; those political discussions which every
evening transformed the _salons_ into so many clubs; the romantic
aspirations of Young France; the turbulence of the people, and the
general want of respect for the monarchy.
Everywhere, moreover, as one of her translators has said, this literary
Amazon marches, armed with a bold and vivid criticism, which gathered
around her eager readers and bitter foes. Do not expect that she will
relate to you (as Lady Morgan does) the tittle-tattle of the boudoirs of
the countries she visits or in which she resides; for from the
particularity and range of her observations it is clear that she made no
flying visit, that her masculine mind penetrated below the surface. When
she arrived in a new land she planted there her flag, and with pen
upraised set forth to attack or energetically praise, according to her
sympathies or her hatreds, the social and political manners exposed to
her searching gaze.
* * * * *
France was not the only field of study which she found in Europe. In
1838 she published her "Vienna and the Austrians," in which her old
antipathies and causticities reappeared; and in 1843, a "Visit to
Italy," which was far from being a success. The classic air of Italy
was not favourable to the development of her peculiar powers, and among
the antiquities of Rome the humour which sketched so forcibly the broad
features of American society was necessarily out of place.
Our business in these pages is with Mrs. Trollope the traveller, but of
the industry of Mrs. Trollope the novelist we may reasonably give the
reader an idea. In 1836 she published "The Adventures of Jonathan
Jefferson Whitlaw," in which she renewed her attacks on American
society, and drew a forcible sketch of the condition of the coloured
population of the Southern States. Some of the scenes may fairly be
credited with having suggested to Dickens the tone and sentiment of his
American pictures in "Martin Chuzzlewit." Her best novel, "The Vicar of
Wrexhill"--a highly-coloured portrait of an Anglican Tartuffe, bitter in
its prejudices, but full of talent--appeared in 1837; the "Romance of
Vienna," an attack on caste distinctions, in 1838. To the same year
belongs her "Michael Armstrong," in which her Ishmael hand fell heavily
on the narrow-mindedness of the manufacturing class--anticipating, in
some degree, Dickens's "Hard Times." "One Fault," a satire upon romantic
exaggeration; and the coarse, but clever "Widow Barnaby," a racy history
of the troubles of a vulgar-genteel _bourgeoise_ in search of a second
husband, were published in 1839; and in the following year appeared its
sequel, "The Widow Married," which is quite as coarse as its
predecessor, but not so amusing. With indefatigable pen she produced,
in 1843, three three-volume novels, "Hargreave," "Jessie Phillips," and
"The Laurringtons"--the first a not very successful sketch of a man of
fashion; the second, an unfair and exaggerated delineation of the action
of the new Poor Law; and the third, a forcible and lively satire upon
"superior people," in which some of the passages are in her best style.
In 1844 the industrious satirist, who would have been more generally
successful had she selected the objects of her attacks with greater
discretion, withdrew to Florence, from the host of enemies her "free
hitting" had provoked, burying herself in an almost absolute seclusion.
But her active mind could not long enjoy repose, and in 1851 she resumed
her pen, selecting the Roman Catholic Church for her target in "Father
Eustace." This was followed in 1852 by "Uncle Walter." It is
unnecessary, however, to enumerate the titles of her later works, as
they lacked most of the qualities which secured the popularity of her
earlier, and have already passed into oblivion. It is doubtful, indeed,
whether even her better work is much known to the reading public of the
present day.[38]
This clever and industrious woman died at Florence on the 6th of
October, 1863, in the eighty-fifth year of her age. Her name has been
highly honoured in her two surviving sons, Anthony and Thomas Adolphus
Trollope, both of whom have attained to a place of distinction in
English literature.
FOOTNOTES:
[38] We have omitted from our list "The Blue Belles of England" (1841);
"Tremordyn Cliff" (1838); "Charles Chesterfield" (1841); "The Ward of
Thorpe-Combe" (1842); "Young Love" (1844); "Petticoat Government"
(1852); and "The Life and Adventures of a Clever Woman" (1853). Between
the last-named and "The Vicar of Wrexhill" the gulf is very wide. One
cannot help admiring, however, the indefatigable perseverance and the
astonishing fertility of this accomplished novelist.
HARRIET MARTINEAU.
One of the best books on Eastern life in English literature we owe to
the pen of a remarkable woman, whose reputation, based as it is on many
other works of singular ability, we may take to be of a permanent
character--Miss Harriet Martineau. She was born in 1802. Her father was
a manufacturer in Norwich, where his family, originally of French
origin, had resided since the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes. To her
uncle, a surgeon in Norwich, she was mainly indebted for her education.
Her home-life was not a happy one, and unquestionably its austere
influences did much to develop in her that colossal egotism and
self-sufficiency which marred her character, and has left its injurious
impress on her writings. She tells us that only twice in her childhood
did she experience any manifestation of tenderness--once when she was
suffering from ear-ache, and her parents were stirred into unwonted
compassion, and once from a kind-hearted lady who witnessed her alarm at
a magic-lantern exhibition.
Much more care was shown in educing her intellectual faculties than in
cultivating her affections. She learned French and music thoroughly, and
attained to such proficiency in the classics that she could not only
write Latin but think in Latin. She took a great delight in reading,
and, of course, read omnivorously, with a special preference for
history, poetry, and politics. Her inquisitive and abnormally active
mind early began its inquiries into the mysteries of religious faith,
but as these were not conducted in a patient or reverent spirit, it is
no wonder, perhaps, that they proved unsatisfactory. She got hold of the
works of Dugald Stewart, Hartley, and Priestley; plunged boldly into the
maze of metaphysics, and grappled unhesitatingly with the mysterious
subjects of fore-knowledge and free-will. But in philosophy as in
religion, her immense egotism led her astray. She accepted nothing for
the existence of which she could not account by causes intelligible to
her own mind. Naturally she became a Necessarian, and adopted
strenuously the dogma of the invariable and inevitable action of fixed
laws. We may be allowed, perhaps, to think of this singular woman as
yearning and aspiring after a lofty ideal throughout a sensitive and
timorous childhood; and in wayward musings and visionary reflections
finding that consolation which should have been, but was not, provided
by maternal love. As she grew older, and grew stronger both in mind and
body, she grew bolder; aspiration gave way to self-satisfied conviction.
Morbid self-reproach was replaced by an extravagant self-consciousness,
and thenceforth she went on her solitary way, acting up always to a high
standard of moral rectitude, but putting aside the faiths and hopes and
judgments of the many as baubles beneath the notice of a mature and
well-balanced intellect.
Her tastes for literary pursuits she has herself ascribed to the extreme
delicacy of her health in childhood; to the infirmity of deafness,
which, while not so complete as to debar her from all social
intercourse, yet compelled her to seek occupations and pleasures not
dependent upon others; and to the affection which subsisted between her
and the brother nearest her own age, the Rev. James Martineau, so well
known for his fine intellectual powers. The death of the father having
involved the family in the discomfort of narrow circumstances, the pen
she had hitherto wielded for amusement she took up with the view of
gaining an independent livelihood; and she conceived the idea of
employing fiction as a vehicle for the exposition and popularization of
the principles of social and political economy. The idea was as new as
it was happy; nor could it have been realized at a more opportune time
than when the English public was beginning to awake from its long
political lethargy, and to assert the rights of the nation against the
dominant class interests. It was desirable that its new-born activity
should be guided by an intelligent apprehension of the cardinal truths
by which reform is differentiated from revolution; and to contribute to
this result became Harriet Martineau's purpose. Accordingly, in 1826,
she wrote, and after conquering the difficulty of finding a publisher,
gave to the world her tale of "The Rioters," the first of a long series
of illustrations of political economy, which had a very considerable
influence, if not quite so great an influence, as she herself supposed.
The series comprises eighteen tales, of which the best, perhaps, are
"Ella of Gareloch," "Life in the Wilds," and "The Hamlets." Their true
merit consists in their having quickened and strengthened the interest
of the reading classes in economic questions. In their day they did an
useful work, but they are already forgotten; and, as Sara Coleridge
predicted, their political economy has proved too heavy a ballast for
vessels that were expected to sail down the stream of time.
In 1834 Miss Martineau "qualified," so to speak, for a place among
female travellers, by visiting the United States. She spent nearly two
years in traversing the territories of the Great Western Republic, and
was everywhere received with an enthusiastic welcome. Returning to
England in 1836, she recorded her impressions of American society, and
her views of American institutions in her "Society in America" and her
"Retrospect of Western Travel." These are discriminative and thoughtful,
while sufficiently cordial in their praise to satisfy even the most
exacting American; and at the time of their appearance these books
unquestionably did much to soothe the irritation which Mrs. Trollope's
hard hitting had provoked. It is but just, however, to commend the
honesty with which she avowed her anti-slavery opinions, which could
not then be enunciated without exciting the anger even of the people of
the North. It brought upon her no small amount of abuse and contumely,
many of those who had previously received her with professed admiration
joining in the clamour raised against her by the slave-holders and their
partisans.
Her literary activity, meanwhile, knew no stint. In 1839 she published
"Deerbrook," her best novel, which the critic will always value as a
vigorous picture of some aspects of English life. The tone is high and
sustained. As for the characters, they are not very strongly
individualized; but, on the other hand, the descriptions are clear and
forcible, while the interest of the plot is deep and wholesome. John
Sterling's criticism of it says:--"It is really very striking, and parts
of it are very true and very beautiful. It is not so true or so
thoroughly clear and harmonious among delineations of English
middle-class gentility as Miss Austen's books, especially as 'Pride and
Prejudice,' which I think exquisite."
While travelling on the Continent, in the spring of 1838, Miss Martineau
was seized with a very serious illness. By slow stages she returned to
England, where she settled down near Newcastle-upon-Tyne, to be under
the care of her brother-in-law. She resided there for a period of nearly
six years. Neither suffering of mind or body, however, was allowed to
interfere with her literary work. She gave to the world in 1840 her
second novel, "The Hour and the Man," founded on the romantic career of
Toussaint L'Ouverture; and composed the admirable series of children's
tales, known by the general title of "The Playfellow." These four
volumes, "Settlers at Home," "The Picnic," "Feats on the Fiord," and
"The Crofton Boys," show her at her very best. They are full of bold and
picturesque descriptions, and the story is told with unflagging energy.
Her peculiar position suggested a book that has won a well-deserved
popularity--"Life in the Sick-room" (1844). Its delicate and judicious
reflections, and its pleasing sketches, cannot be read without a touch
of sympathy.
Restored to health in 1845, she removed to Ambleside, among the lakes
and mountains, settling in the immediate neighbourhood of the poet
Wordsworth. In the autumn she published her "Forest and Game Laws"; and
in the following year she made a journey to the East, and ascended the
river Nile, recording her experiences in the book which has led us to
introduce her among our female travellers--"Eastern Life, Past and
Present," a remarkable book, giving a fresh interest to the beaten track
of Eastern travel and research, and breathing vitality into the dry
bones of Champollini, Wilkinson, and Lane. Putting aside its crude
notions of Egyptology, and its wild speculations on religious topics, we
must be prepared to admire its fresh and finely-coloured word pictures,
the glow and power of which are surprising. Miss Martineau went up the
Nile to Philae; she afterwards crossed the desert to the Red Sea, landed
in Arabia, and ascended Mounts Sinai and Horeb; and, finally, explored
a portion of the shores and islands of the Mediterranean. We must pause
in our rapid narrative to give a specimen or two of the sketches she
made on the way; they will show how a strong and vivid genius can deal
with the incidents of travel, and what a record of it may become in the
hands of a skilful and accomplished artist.
Let us take her description of the Sphinx--the Sphinx that for some
thousands of years has held mute companionship with the Great
Pyramids:--
"The full serene gaze of its round face, rendered ugly by the loss of
the nose, which was a very handsome feature of the old Egyptian
face--this full gaze, and the stony calm of its attitude almost turn one
to stone. So life-like, so huge, so monstrous; it is really a fearful
spectacle. I saw a man sitting in a fold of the neck--as a fly might
settle on a horse's mane. In that crease he reposed, while far over his
head extended the vast pent-house of the jaw; and above that, the
dressed hair on either side the face--each bunch a mass of stone which
might crush a dwelling-house. In its present state its proportions
cannot be obtained; but Sir G. Wilkinson tells us, 'Pliny says it
measured from the belly to the highest part of the head sixty-three
feet; its length was one hundred and forty-three; and the circumference
of its head round the forehead one hundred and two feet; all cut out in
the natural rock, and worked smooth.' Fancy the long well-opened eyes,
in such proportion as this--eyes which have gazed unwinking into
vacancy, while mighty Pharaohs, and Hebrew law-givers, and Persian
princes, and Greek philosophers, and Antony with Cleopatra by his side,
and Christian anchorites, and Arab warriors, and European men of
science, have been brought hither in succession by the unpausing ages to
look up into those eyes--so full of meaning, though so fixed!"[39]
* * * * *
At Damascus she visited a Turkish harem, and her account of the visit
the reader will find some interest in comparing with Madame Hommaire de
Hell's narrative of a similar experience.
She and her companions saw the seven wives of three gentlemen, besides a
crowd of attendants and visitors. Of the seven, two had been the wives
of the head of the household, who was dead; three were the wives of his
eldest son, aged twenty-two; and the remaining two were the wives of his
second son, aged fifteen. The youngest son, aged thirteen, was not yet
married; but he would be thinking about it soon. The pair of widows were
elderly women, as merry as girls, and quite at their ease. Of the other
five three were sisters--that is, we conclude, half-sisters; children of
different mothers in the same harem. It is evident, at a glance, what a
tragedy lies under this; what the horrors of jealousy must be among
sisters thus connected for life; three of them between two husbands in
the same house! And we were told that the jealousy had begun, young as
they were, and the third having been married only a week. This young
creature, aged twelve, was the bride of the husband of fifteen. She was
the most conspicuous person in the place, not only for the splendour of
her dress, but because she sat on the diwan, while the others sat or
lounged on cushions on the raised floor. The moment Miss Martineau took
her seat she was struck with compassion for this child, who looked so
grave, sad, and timid, while the others romped and giggled, and indulged
in laughter at their own silly jokes; she smiled not, but looked on
listlessly. Miss Martineau was resolved to make her laugh before she
went away, and at length she did somewhat relax--smiling, and in a
moment growing grave; but after a while she really and truly laughed,
and when the whole harem was shown to the visitors, she slipped her bare
and dyed feet into her pattens, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and joined
them in the courts, nestling to them, and apparently losing the sense of
her new position for a time; but there was less of the gaiety of a child
about her than in the elderly widows. Her dress was superb--a full skirt
and bodice of geranium-coloured brocade, embossed with gold flowers and
leaves; and her frill and ruffles were of geranium-coloured gauze. Her
eyebrows were frightful--joined together and extended by black paint. A
silk net, bedizened with jewels and natural flowers, covered her head,
which thus resembled a bouquet sprinkled with diamonds. Her nails were
dyed black, and her feet dyed black in chequers. Her complexion, called
white, was of an unhealthy yellow; indeed, not a healthy complexion was
to be seen among the whole company. How should it be otherwise among
women secluded from exercise, and pampered with all the luxuries of
Oriental life.
Besides the seven wives, a number of attendants came in to look at the
European visitors, and serve the pipes and sherbet; also a few ladies
from a neighbouring harem; and a party of Jewesses, with whom Miss
Martineau and her friends had some previous acquaintance. Mrs. G., we
are told, was compelled to withdraw her lace veil, and then to remove
her bonnet; the street, she was informed, was the place where the veil
should be worn, and not the interior of the house. Then her bonnet went
round, and was tried on many heads; one merry girl wearing it long
enough to surprise many new comers with the joke. Miss Martineau's
gloves were stretched and pulled in a variety of ways, in their attempts
to thrust their large, broad brown hands into them, one after another.
But it was the ear-trumpet, rendered necessary by her deafness, which
afforded the greatest entertainment. The eldest widow, who sat near her,
asked for it and put it to her ear; whereupon Miss Martineau exclaimed,
"Bo!" When she had done laughing, the lady of the harem placed it to her
next neighbour's ear, and shouted "Bo!" and in this way it returned to
its possessor. But in two minutes it was asked for again, and went round
a second time; everybody laughing as loud as ever at each "Bo!" so that
the joke was repeated a third time.